


Follies of Others

by summerofspock



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M, M/M, pride and prejudice au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 21:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1525982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/pseuds/summerofspock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Kirk family runs Enterprise Tech, an independent research facility on the cusp of bankruptcy. Enter Spock and Uhura, two wealthy potential investors whose money might just save the company.  Jim thinks he and Spock could work really well together. If only Spock weren't such an asshole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Follies of Others

**Author's Note:**

> 1) I own none of these characters and do not profit from this work.  
> 2) This is the result of a Pride and Prejudice class project wherein I set Pride and Prejudice in the Star Trek universe. So this is me taking that AU and making an AU.  
> 3) This is the future but it is not fully Star Trek future.  
> 4) I'm taking some liberties with Winona Kirk's character in order to make her line up more adequately with a Mrs. Bennett-like position. (i.e. these are not my headcanons for her personality)  
> 5) the pseudo science in this is absolute malarky and i know its bad. please be kind. its been four years since I took chem and I've always been horrible at physics.

“There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.”   
― [Jane Austen](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1265.Jane_Austen),  _[Pride and Prejudice](http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/3060926)_

Jim Kirk likes his job, he really does. Not only does he have total creative control—he supposes he has his brains to thank for that, being a genius has its perks—but he gets to set his own hours and any time he requests anything, it’s done almost immediately and with a smile. But some days, like today, he hates it. The administrative thing is just not his bag.

He sits in the third floor conference room with his brother, Sam, who is lecturing him on the merits of saving money since the company had been on the downslide since the two brothers had taken over ten months prior. Jim stares out the floor to ceiling windows that look into the sleek hallway. He idly wonders if his Dad hired an interior decorator after he built the place. Jim sort of doubts it. No interior decorator would put so much chrome in only place unless the owner specifically said “Make it look as unfriendly as possible.” Jim prefers a warmer color palette personally.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jim says once Sam stops spouting whatever financial nonsense he deems important. “You worry about the money stuff, I’ll stick to the inventing.”

Sam groans. “That’s just the issue, Jim. You aren’t _inventing_ anything.”

“The Potato Shooter begs to differ,” Jim scoffs.

Sam rolls his eyes. “No one is going to buy your stupid vegetable cannon. Especially not our ever-logical Vulcan overlords. _”_

“Okay, okay. I get it,” Jim says, twisting in the spinny chair while gripping the edge of the conference table. “But, you do know that I’m on the brink with this warp drive. I just need more time.”

“And more money,” Sam adds, making a note on the pad in front of him.

“Yes, more money. But this is the big one Sam. Bigger than anything. If I can figure out how to stabilize the trilithium compound we’re looking at a warp core that can hit speeds nearly three times that of the dilithium core while taking up half the space. Vulcans will eat that shit up if it means they can get their hands on even more planets. Farther planets. Maybe even galaxies. Not to mentions the door that opens for weapons technologies,” Jim says as he puffs his cheeks out and blows his breath out with a whoosh at the mere idea of the vastness he’s imagining.

Sam taps his pen against the table. “You don’t have to convince me. You need to convince…” he pauses as he thumbs through a few screens on his padd,  “Mr. Spock.”

“Spock,” Jim says, letting the word roll around on his tongue. “Sounds Vulcan,” he muses.

Sam raises an eyebrow. “That’s because he is.”

“What?!” Jim squawks as the chair tilts back unexpectedly and he pinwheels his arms forward to regain his balance. Sam stares at him for a moment clearly contemplating what universe landed with a brother as ridiculous as Jim. Jim tries to smile coolly back, but he’s pretty sure the effect is ruined when his chair begins to spin around. He digs his feet into the ground and tries not to scowl.  

“Yeah. Vulcan investors,” Sam says slowly like Jim is touched in the head. Jim glares at him as he continues, “ Where else do you think we could get money? Humans just aren’t interested in exploratory tech like the stuff you’re talking about. Just draw up some specs and trot them out.”

“Listen to you, ‘trot them out,’ I’m not some whore for you to pimp out at your leisure,” Jim says, throwing air quotes around Sam’s words.

“I beg to differ. You spend all the company’s money on useless projects like your stupid potato pelter—“

“Shooter,” Jim corrects sullenly, but Sam ignores him.

“If you keep this up we’re out of business and I really doubt that’s how Dad would like to see this place go. I mean, he built this company from the ground up and—“

“Oh, great. Play the dead dad card. Fucking great, Sam,” Jim says as he grips his hands onto the edge of the cold metal surface of the table.

“It’s true,” Sam retorts with a shrug. “Dad left us this company to keep it going. To see it grow. Not collapse in on itself in less than a year.”

Jim sighs and releases the table, leaning back into his chair. “Fine, I’ll titillate your mysterious Vulcan investor. Just tell me when and where I get the honor of dropping my intellectual pants.”

“Well, you can start at the party Mom’s throwing on Saturday.”

  Jim groans. “No, no. No. You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m not going to drag myself to one of mom’s stupid theme soiree’s just to impress some rich alien.”

Sam raises his hand to stop Jim’s rampant complaining. “First off, yes, you will. And second, it’s a rich alien and his rich friend,” he finishes, holding up two fingers as if to illustrate his points more effectively.

“I’ve always wanted to have an interspecies threesome,” Jim says casually. Mostly to watch the color drain from Sam’s face before he excuses himself. “If you’ll excuse me, I have specs to draw up.”

Jim slumps back to the lab where he finds Sulu happily shooting carrots from the Potato Shooter. They thump against the white wall of the observation tank, exploding into orange shrapnel. Jim approaches, tapping on the glass. Sulu turns and takes off his safety glasses with a mad grin. “It shoots more than potatoes, Jim!” he shouts through the glass like it’s the best thing he’s ever found out.

Jim laughs and gestures for Sulu to join him in the main lab. Sulu sets the Shooter by the glass door which slides open at his touch and re-enters the lab. “What is it, Jim?”

“Sam wants specs for the trilithium warp core,” Jim says sheepishly. The smile drops from Sulu’s face. “He wants them by Saturday,” he finishes lamely.

“But it’s Thursday,” Sulu says in confusion.

“I know,’ Jim begins. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to get him off my back and then he was on it so fast and we’re running low on money. We need something, Sulu.”

Sulu runs a hand over his face. “But the trilithium core is a stupid idea you had when you were drunk. I mean you even said it: There’s no way we can create enough energy for warp without destabilizing the compound.”

“Well, we better figure out a way,” Jim says, feeling that particular spark of determination that only came right before long nights spent scribbling on padds and chalkboards.

Sulu sighs. “We better bring in the big guns.”

Jim nods. “Give him a call.”

“You know, he probably has school in morning,” Sulu warns.

“Like he needs to go?” Jim scoffs but Sulu looks at him dubiously. “Whatever. I’ll forge him a doctor’s note. It’ll be fine.”

“That’s probably against the law.”

“Whatever. You get Chekov, I’ll go round up Scotty.”

“Isn’t he working on that terraforming gig with the VSA?” Sulu asks, stopping halfway to the door.

“Hey, they only have him on lend. He’s an Enterprise Tech through and through,” Jim points out as Sulu mock salutes before leaving the room.

 

Jim never likes going to the San Francisco branch of the Vulcan Science Academy. As far as alien empires go, the Vulcans have been pretty hands off since they conquered the joint a century ago and the VSA stands out stark against the human architectural landscape of the bay, looming high and tan in all its sandstone glory.

After a quick check in at the desk, Jim is waived into an elevator that lifts him up one of the spires topping the Academy. He finds Scotty hunched over a padd, keying in figures and adjusting the 3D model of something torpedo-like that is forming in blue light above the table in front of him. Jim clears his throat and he looks up absently, immediately grinning when he realizes who it is. “Jim! What are you doing here?”

Jim laughs and crosses to Scotty taking the padd from his hand to read the most recent equation. He raises his eyebrows. “You’re a genius. Anybody ever tell you that?”

“Every day,” Scotty says, grabbing the padd back from Jim. “What do you want?” he asks brusquely as Jim leans against the table in front of him.

“I need you to come back to Enterprise for a couple of days.”

It’s Scotty’s turn to raise his eyebrows as he sets the padd down next to Jim. “I’m a little busy here. If you couldn’t tell.”

Jim grimaces and admits. “I need to draw up a plan for that trilithium core we talked about.”

“We _talked about_?” Scotty asks incredulously. “WE?? You mean, YOU. I’ve told ye a million times, Jim, it cannae be done.” Jim smiles in a moment of genuine humor.

“You know, your accents gets so thick when you’re frustrated.”

“Damn right, I’m frustrated. That idea was supposed to go in the trash along with all the other half baked schemes you’ve been coming up with lately.”

Jim looks at the ground, feeling a little sheepish. “I know, Scotty. But Sam said the company’s in real trouble. We have to get investors.”

“And why would people invest in something that’s impossible?”

“We both know it’s not impossible, Scotty,” Jim says, pushing off from the table he leans against and rolling his eyes.  “Don’t be overdramatic.”

“Fine. When do you need this miraculous plan by?”

“Saturday?” Jim mumbles, ready for another chastisement.

Scotty eyes grow wide and he takes a deep breath. “I assume you’re bringing in the whiz kid?” he asks as he picks up his padd again, absently typing numbers in and giving Jim hope that he’s interested. That he believes.

“Already got him on lock,” Jim says, a small grin growing on his face.

“All right,” Scotty says after a moment of silence. “I’ll go beg off for the weekend.”

“Good. We’re gonna work our asses off and then guess what?” Jim says, turning and throwing an arm around Scotty’s shoulders.

“What?”

“We’re going to a party,” Jim says with no small amount of triumph as his friend shrugs off his grip.

“As long as there’s scotch, I’ll be there.”

 

Jim throws the padd onto the table in disgust only to have Scotty screech in dismay and rescue it from where it clatters among several other discards. “Careful, lad,” Scotty admonishes. “This one’s the closest we’ve been yet. Don’t go throwing it around like trash.”

Jim leans his elbows on the table and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes with a load groan. It’s a little past midnight and they’ve been working since two. “It’s fine, Scotty. That strain of padd’s shatter-resistant. I invented it. Remember?”

Scotty stares at the screen and scrubs a hand through his short auburn hair. He passes the padd to Chekov who looks tiny and inconsequential next to the giant metal lab table. The white lab coat makes him look even younger; like a kid playing dress up. He scowls a little and taps his fingers around the numbers on the screen.

He, too, places the padd on the table with a small sigh. “I am sorry, Kirk, sir. I cannot see how to make this work. It is…”

“Impossible?” Jim finishes bitterly.

“Let’s call it a night, Jim,” Sulu begs. “I can’t even see straight anymore.”

Jim straightens and picks up the discarded padd. “It’s fine. You guys go. I’m going to work a little longer.”

The three other men shuffle out of the room and Jim puts his forehead on the table. The cold metal soothes the frustration coursing through him. He can do this. He can. He just can’t give up.

 

“I got it. I got it!” Jim cries when his coworkers show up the next morning at 9 am. He’d worked through the night and _finally_  he had made it work.  “What if we use the decomposition to feed a line between a dilithium and trilithium core so that the dilithium never runs out but it also works to stabilize the trilithium.”

Scotty stares at him for a moment, the cup of coffee in his hand forgotten. “So…you want to set up a closed system between what’s basically two warp cores.”

“Exactly!”

“Won’t that increase the size?”

“No, since the dilithium core can be tiny with the trilithium’s decomp charging it. I’m more concerned about the size of the trilithium core. But I guess we can fix that when we come to it.” Jim doesn’t even bother to keep the excitement from his voice.

Scotty nods slowly as he picks up the padd with the equation on it and bites his bottom lip as he thinks. Chekov draws up behind him and looks over his shoulder curiously.

“Aye, that should work, Jim,” Scotty says finally with a hint of pride in his voice.

Chekov nods enthusiastically. “Yes!”

Jim claps his hands together and declares, “Let’s draw us some models.”

 

Jim wakes up on Saturday to the aggressive chirping of his comm. He groans as he rolls over and snatches it from his bedside table. His clock reads 8 and he distinctly recalls it reading 3 when he fell into bed. His mom’s ID stares back at him from the screen and he struggles into a sitting position as he presses the answer button.

“Jim!” His mother always sounds obscenely happy in the morning. Jim struggles to keep his tone neutral in response. “Yes?”

“Are you coming to the party tonight?” she asks with more cheer than should be legal at 8 am.

“Yes, mom. Sam told me I needed to go.”

“Oh, I’m so glad!” she cries. “You haven’t been to one of my parties since Christmas.”

“I’ve been busy at work, mom.” The lie slides off his tongue with ease of practice. It’s what he always says when he begs off family engagements.  It would probably work better if his family didn’t own the company he worked at.

“I know, Jim. I just miss seeing you. The parties aren’t the same without you.”

“I know,” he says kindly, hoping to placate her so she will get off the phone and he can get back to sleep.

“I’ll send over the outfit I bought for you,”

Jim grimaces. “You got me an outfit?”

“You need a costume,” she says like it’s obvious. “Oh, you’ll look so handsome.”

Jim grits his teeth and makes a non-committal sound.

“It’s at the Palace Hotel—”

“Mom, I know,” Jim says, trying to stem the flow of information.

“—in the Garden Court—“

“It’s always there,” Jim tries in vain.

“Starting at 7. But you know that don’t you?” she finishes. Jim can hear her smile over the phone.

“I’ll be there, ok?”

“Okay. Can’t wait,” his mom says. “Love you, baby.”

“You too,” Jim grumbles as his mom hangs up. He tosses his comm back onto the table and flops back into his pillows. Idly, he wonders why they’re throwing such a big party if Enterprise Tech is strapped for cash. His father’s voice drifts through his mind: _You’ve got to spend money to make money, Jim-boy._

He grabs the pillow from the other side of the bed and presses it against his face to block out the early morning light, but it’s useless. He’s awake and if he’s going to be awake he needs coffee. He swings out of bed and pads to the kitchen savoring the cold tile against his toes and the way it wakes him up exactly the way he needs. A dark head poking out from the blankets on the couch gives him pause.

“Bones?” he asks.

The man on the couch sits up and rubs his eyes. He looks at Jim blearily. “Hey. Sorry. I missed the last train and your place is closer to the hospital.”

Jim nods sympathetically. “Mi casa es su casa,” he says as he grabs a coffee packet from the cupboard. “Coffee?” Jim asks as he pours water in the carafe.

“Yes please,” Bones says as he leans back into the couch and closes his eyes. Jim really feels for the guys. Bones has been his best friend since he was Jim’s physician after a lab accident three years ago. He’s divorced trying to put his daughter through school all by himself and he works crazy hours at the hospital.

“You know, you should really consider getting a place closer to town,” Jim says as the coffee starts to percolate and he crosses to the chair across from Bones.

“With the market the way it is, I’d never be able to sell the place I have. And I _definitely_ can’t afford two mortgage payments.”

Jim nods and they lapse into silence.

“You know your mom called me last night,” Bones says his tone light.

Jim lets his head fall back against the chair with a dull thud. “Of course she did.”

“Asked me if you were coming to the ball.”

“I’m going, okay?” Jim says with a little more force than necessary. “And I just got off the phone with her so she knows.”

“You shouldn’t avoid your mom like this, Jim.”

“I can do what I want. You’d do the same in my shoes,” Jim snaps, regretting his harsh tone immediately when he remembers that both Bones’s parents are dead and have been for a long time.

Bones shrugs. “She also invited me.”

“To the party?” Jim asks, incredulous, trying to imagine Bones dressed up in full Regency costume. For some reason his mind conjures a pink empire-waisted dress replete with bonnet and gloves. He chuckles and Bones raises an eyebrow at him. “Yes. To the party.”

“Are you going?”

“And pass up free food? I don’t think so.”

“What about the costume?”

“Your mom said she’d send something,” Bones says and Jim thinks he has no idea what he’s in for.

“Wow, she’s really pulling out all the stops to get me to this damn party,” Jim says. The coffee pot dings so he stands and crosses to the kitchen, savoring the strong smell.

“Hey! She could have invited me for me. Not everything has to do with you. Besides, I wouldn’t mind if she asked me as a date. I mean, your mom is hot. And not too much older—“ Bones says wistfully as Jim slams a cup of coffee into his hands—black like he knows Bones likes it.

“Do. Not. Fuck. My. Mother,” Jim warns before taking a sip of his sugared coffee. He sighs with contentment. Sweet caffeine.

Bones holds up his free hand in surrender as he too takes a sip from his cup.

 

Bones tugs at the fabric around his neck, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “This goddamn tie is choking me,” he complains.

“It’s called a cravat, Bones,” Jim corrects even though he agrees. These clothes feel like a prison and his fingers itch to adjust them in various places. Tug at the cornflower blue waistcoat to let his ribs breath. Adjust the tan pants— _breeches_ , his mind supplies—so he doesn’t feel like everyone can see his religion. But mostly the cravat which circles his throat with aggressive cloth fingers and an overly ornate knot that he had to look up how to tie. He feels stupid. Why did anyone ever dress like this?

“I need a drink,” Bones says looking around for the bar. Jim points at the corner and Bones starts off in immediately. “Bring me one of whatever you’re having,” Jim calls after him. He hears Bones’s grunt of acknowledgment as he stalks off.

Jim surveys the room and has to admit that despite the binding nature of the clothes he admire the low cut bodices on all the women and the tight fit of the breeches on the men. His mouth twitches up on one side as Scotty spies him from across the room and crosses to his side. “My nuts are asleep,” Scotty pronounces once he’s close enough to be heard over the low murmur of the guests.

“I think that’s impossible,” Jim says with a laugh.

“Tell that to my ballsac,” Scotty grumbles shifting his weight from foot to foot in a clear attempt to let blood return to…certain areas.

“So when are these mysterious investors showing up?” Scotty asks. Jim had filled him in on the plan on Friday afternoon. Scotty had been all about it. Money was money, he said, even if it came from aliens. Scotty’s enthusiasm had made Jim feel a little better about the whole situation. He absently touches the bulge of the mini-padd in his breast pocket.

“I don’t know,” Jim says. “Isn’t it illogical to be late?”

Scotty barks out a laugh. “Don’t go saying that to his face.”

Jim shrugs and the tight fit of his jacket pinches uncomfortably.  A small hush falls over the crowd and Jim’s neck prickles beneath the grip of his cravat. He turns to the door and his gaze catches on a thin black woman whose cream colored dress accents the deep hue of her skin. The people near the door have pulled back giving her a wide birth. Her hair is piled elegantly on her head in a series of curls while her hand rests on her partner’s forearm. Jim’s eyes drift to the man next to her and immediately his heart hammers a few paces faster. He feels a blush begin to creep around his ears and all he wants to do is stare at the guy who just walked in, looking for all the world at home in his Regency clothes.

Jim’s never really been attracted to Vulcans. Something about their austere features and matching bowlcuts puts him off. Though he can admit their ears are kind of cute. Never out loud or in the presence of one though. For all their logic, they could be total over-reactionary bastards. No sense of humor, Vulcans. This Vulcan though, this—Speck? Spot? Spock?— is beautiful. Jim wets his lips nervously as his eyes rake from the usual black cap of Vulcan hair down the delicately pointed ears to sculpted features. He tries to figure out what separates this Vulcan from all the ones he’s seen before and suddenly it hits him—something about the way his eyes survey the room. They didn’t hold abject judgment and disdain like so many Vulcans’ do. Rather, something closer to compassion.

And the way his clothes hug his leanly muscled frame isn’t hurting anything either, Jim notes as he bites his cheek. Scotty emits a low whistle and elbows him. “Who’s that?”

“That’s the Vulcan investor,” Jim says, keeping his voice low.

“I know that,” Scotty says. “Who’s that woman next to him?”

Jim shrugs. “I don’t know. Sam said there’d be two and I just assumed they’d both be Vulcans. I guess not. She’s pretty hot though.”

 “She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Scotty says with no small amount of reverence. Jim wants to laugh but he thinks Scotty is in earnest and he doesn’t want to hurt his feelings.

“Why don’t you go talk to her?” Jim urges, elbowing his friend playfully in return.

Scotty begins to turn a rather alarming shade of pink at the prospect. “Me? The potato? Why would she want to talk to me?”

Jim does laugh then. “Well, you’re going to have to talk to her eventually. You’re my main engineer. Even if you don’t ask her out, you’re gonna have to help me sell the plan to them. Woo her money if not her.”

Scotty swallows visibly but his blush recedes. “I can do that. I can talk about engineering. I’m good at that,” he says as if convincing himself.

“Yeah, you are,” Jim says, laughing.

Scotty holds out his hand and Jim hands him the mini padd from his breast pocket. His friend squares his shoulders and walks purposefully toward the woman by the door, whose eyebrows raise slightly at his abrupt approach. She starts laughing at something Scotty said and Jim can see what his friend was raving about as her large eyes light with humor. Seemingly she introduces Scotty to her until-then-silent Vulcan friend and Scotty inclines his head politely as he hoists the ubiquitous Vulcan greeting. The Vulcan returns it politely, his features immobile.

Bones appears out of nowhere and presses a glass into his hand. Jim lifts it to his lips and sniffs. Straight whiskey. Perfect. He takes a hearty sip as his friend says, “Uhura and Spock. Or that’s what everyone’s saying. Uhura’s the woman and Spock, well, he’s Vulcan. Have to be. With a name like that.”

Jim nods as his gaze shifts back to the couple in the entryway. He suddenly appreciates the immediate relaxation afforded by the alcohol now burning its way down his throat. “Are they together?”

“I don’t—wait, I know that look. Jim,” Bones warns, “keep it in your pants.”

Jim looks at Bones over the rim of his glass with mock innocence. “A little flirting never hurt anyone.”

“Aren’t you trying to get their money? I’m pretty sure offending him right from the gate isn’t going to win you any races,” Bones says with a heavy layer of sagacity and Jim rolls his eyes at the metaphor.

He notices that Scotty seems to have acquired the woman’s—Uhura’s—attention so he decides it’s his turn to work on the Vulcan. He downs the rest of the whiskey and thrusts the glass back at Bones who harumphs at the gesture but takes it anyway. Putting his shoulders back and a nonchalant grin on his face Jim saunters over to the alien who is regarding Scotty and Uhura with interest.

“Hi, I’m Jim Kirk,” Jim says, sticking his hand out then immediately realizing his mistake when the alien looks at his hand like it’s a snake waiting to bite him.

The alien’s eyes flick from his hand to his face and catch there. Jim drops his hand abruptly, noticing how his palms have begun to sweat. “Sorry. Human mistake.” Jim makes a hasty ta’al and the Vulcan’s eyebrows draw together minutely as he returns it.

“Spock,” the Vulcan says, his voice gravelly yet measured. Jim thinks he’d like to hear more from that mouth. His eyes drift to said mouth and he blinks sharply, reminding himself to make eye contact.

“No first name?” Jim says teasingly.

“You would not be able to pronounce it,” Spock says in a way that sounds like a dismissal, but Jim Kirk does not get dismissed.

“Oh well. Vulcan is pretty rough on the human tongue, huh?” Jim observes. Spock raises an eyebrow and Jim realizes that it sounded like a line. A weird, very lame line. “I mean…oh fuck. Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to swear,” Jim says, the blush from earlier returning with vengeance.

He takes a breath. “I run Enterprise Tech,” he begins, making a gesture to the party around him. “I was wondering if you’d be interested in hearing about the latest project we have in the works.”

There is a slight pause as if Spock needs time to process what Jim just said before replying. “I heard your engineer’s explanation. It seems…promising.”

“You ain’t seen nothing,” Jim says, getting excited. The musicians at the top of the room begin to tune their instruments and he notices Scotty offering his arm to Uhura who nods and follows him onto the dance floor. “I can bring up the models we drew up…” Jim’s excitement dwindles as he pats his coat, belatedly realizing that he gave the padd to Scotty.

It doesn’t seem to matter to Spock whose eyes have followed Uhura’s movements as she begins to dance with Scotty.  “If you’ll excuse me,” he says to Jim, effectively ending the conversation before he bows slightly and abruptly crosses to the refreshment table. Jim huffs in annoyance as Bones comes to join him.

“Looks like you’re out of luck,” Bones commiserates.

“I didn’t even flirt with him!” Jim says. “I mean, not on purpose.”

Bones laughs at him as Jim fidgets in his clothes. “Just go find some girl to dance with. It’ll get your mind off of Tall, Dark and Surly.”

Jim concedes the point and ends up asking one of the lower lab techs to dance. She has curly blonde hair and sparkling brown eyes, but his heart’s not in the waltz so he begs off after the one dance. He should probably speak with his mother anyway. As he leaves the dance floor, he notices Scotty still dancing with Uhura. He gives his friend a thumbs up while Uhura’s back is turned and Scotty gives him a triumphant smile. At least the night’s going well for someone. 


End file.
